


Pumpkin and Spice and Everything Nice

by nicKnack22



Series: Nested [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Costumes, Dean and Kids, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Halloween, Kid Fic, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Trick or Treating, dadstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicKnack22/pseuds/nicKnack22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Cas’ idea to dress Emma for the Halloween, but it’s Dean’s idea to theme their costumes. Go big or go home, he figures, if they’re gonna do this, they might as well go the whole nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pumpkin Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [8sword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/gifts).



> I wish my most darling, 8sword, an incredibly, wonderful, magical, amazing birthday! I know I'm quite late, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway. You're wonderful, dear one. <3

Dean is not a big fan of Halloween. Sure, there’s candy, lots and lots of candy, and it also signals the true start of fall pie season (bring on the pecan, baby), but all the good stuff comes right alongside a fuck ton of idiots messing around with the occult and causing big trouble. No amount of Kit-Kats or apple pie a la mode or slutty nurse costumes can truly compensate for the ensuing shit storm. October 31 is also very close to November 2 and, though he has rarely, if ever, mentioned this as a reason for his anti-Halloween sentiments, Dean’s never been particularly pleased by the proximity.

To be perfectly honest, whatever small shred of affection he had for Halloween was obliterated during the whole Samhain debacle. Upon closer reflection, a lot of holidays were ruined for Dean that year (ever since the truly fucked up encounter with Famine, he comes awfully close to breaking out in fucking hives at the first sign of hearts and doilies in February), but there’s something particularly traumatic about having freshly spilled, still warm witch blood smeared on your face before taking out the Monster Mash with a flame thrower, and then discovering your brother is in training as a Sith Lord. It’s kind of a turn off. 

Things change once he has a kid. 

Emma arrives in March. It’s a windy, mess of a month: bright spring sunshine clashing with icy wind and hail. The day of her birth begins with a surprise snow shower (it turns out to be the last of the season). Dean and Cas drive to the hospital in the early hours of the morning, fumbling out of bed and around the house before pilling into the Impala, where a baby car seat has already been locked and loaded. Dean is frustrated beyond all reason by the weather, at how slowly he has to drive because, as Cas points out, they need to survive their journey in order to actually meet their child. It’s an antsy, stressful, terrifying, exciting, fucking agonizing ride through town. 

Twelve hours later, it’s like the storm never happened. Birds swoop past the waiting room windows and warm sunlight spills across the uncomfortable chairs that have left Cas’ back aching and the bland tiled floor that Dean has paced a thousand times. The weather promises that spring has finally arrived. The parents-to-be hardly notice, by the time that the nurse finally comes out to tell them that they have a beautiful baby girl and would they like to meet her, Dean’s almost out of his mind with nerves, and Cas grips his hand so hard that his bones grind together. 

The sight of Emma, pink and wrinkled, ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, the feel of her in his arms—so fragile, so small, but so real: warm skin, downy hair, little ears almost translucent —is eclipsed only by the sight of her in Cas’ arms. His eyes fly impossibly wide when Dean hands her off. Cas looks down at their daughter like he’s witnessing a miracle, there are tears on his cheeks, and Dean’s heart twists in his chest. He’s never felt so much pure, unadulterated love in his entire fucking life. 

The next few months pass in a haze. Their lives are populated by milestones that belong to their family alone, they operate on a separate calendar that they create day by day. First experiences turn their daily grind into small holidays, which they mark with fresh pages in Emma’s baby book. Cas had insisted they keep one and Dean had supported the idea wholeheartedly. They fill pages upon pages with notes and pictures. Each entry crafted with care, every moment of Emma’s first days noted by both of her parents. 

They mark Emma’s first smile; the first time she rolls over. The first time that she sleeps the whole night through (Dean had forgotten that six hours of sleep in a single sitting was possible). They record the terrifying day that Dean thought Emma had a fever and panicked so hard that he’d almost been in tears right along with her before Cas had gotten home from the market. He took Dean by the shoulders, told him to breathe, called the pediatrician, and held Dean tight to his chest, while Dean held Emma to his. They mark the first time that Aunt Charlie babysits (Emma comes out of the experience with a stuffed Yoda that she happily drools over and an elvish lullaby sung softly to her before bed), and the first time Uncle Sam babysits (he plays Mozart to help stimulate her mental development and spends almost the whole night worrying that he’ll accidentally break her with his too large hands). There’s a beautiful picture of Emma’s first day at the park, her eyes wide and wondering in the summer sun, before Dean plops his aviators on her little face, suddenly overcome with worry about the harmful effects of UV rays on eye development. Dean’s favorite picture is of the first time Emma sits up by herself: Cas sits like he does when he meditates, a perfect example of how its done, and Emma sits next to him, looking up at her papa with utter fascination, holding herself in position all by her lonesome while Cas grins from ear to ear. There’s a photo of Dean giving the camera two thumbs up next to his bewildered baby on the day that Dean swears she can distinguish the sweet sounds of Led Zeppelin from pop rock bullshit. Cas contests whether this merits recording in her baby book, but he concedes to Dean’s request for the sole purpose of having Emma herself tease him about it when she’s old enough to do so. 

Emma is a relatively quiet baby. Her face is incredibly expressive, but she tends to only make noise when she has something to say. Cas talks to her like she’s a fully-grown person, and Emma considers him with a solemn expression, soaking in his every word and gesture like a little sponge, occasionally talking back. Dean is pretty sure (mostly) that Cas doesn’t actually speak baby, but he listens seriously to their daughter as she babbles emphatically at him, and he responds to her seriously in English (and occasionally Enochian). Dean is much less dignified. He’s the one that coos and babbles back at her. He calls her ‘baby girl’ and ‘cookie monster’ and ‘Emster’ and blows raspberries on her tummy and rubs their noses together, while she squeals and bats at his cheeks. 

It’s not until October that the Winchester Family Calendar catches up with the real world calendar. By then Emma is going on seven months old; her daddy and papa have adjusted (for the most part) to parenthood; and Cas has decided unequivocally that that Emma should be dressed up for the holiday.

He broaches the subject while they’re walking through the farmer’s market—yes, Dean has come to this point of domesticity in his life, any one who challenges him on this can, in his words, ‘go fuck themselves’ because he’s happier than he’s ever been, and there’s absolutely nothing not awesome about being able to make his baby homemade applesauce instead of that processed, store-bought crap. There’s also nothing not awesome about showing off his husband and his daughter for all the world to see. Dean pushes the stroller, which is currently doubling as a grocery cart, heavily laden with squash and fruits and a pumpkin for carving. The customary occupant of said stroller is currently swaddled against her papa’s chest while he examines apples and decides to surprise the hell out of Dean.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” is Dean’s knee jerk response. 

Cas frowns at him, and Emma looks up at them both with wide eyes that are slowly settling on brown. 

“It’s her first holiday,” he says simply.

Dean takes a deep breath, “She’s not gonna remember it, Cas.”

“Perhaps not,” he replies, “but we will.”

He runs a hand against her downy head, “I don’t want her to be denied an experience because of our ‘baggage.’”

He has a point. Dean runs a hand against the back of his head. He honestly hadn’t thought Cas would go in for this sort of shit. They’ve effectively ignored Halloween ever since the life and death stakes of the first one they spent together (back when Cas was a dick and Dean was an ass and Sam was on the highway to hell). Cas had no great desire to go trick or treating, in fact, Dean had convinced Cas that far from getting dressed up, Halloween was the perfect opportunity to dress down—spend the night in bed watching shitty horror movies and having killer sex. Cas is right on this one though. Dean might not like Halloween, Cas might not either, but they have little girl, and she deserves to have some fun. She also deserves to have a life that isn’t bogged down by her parents shit. 

It’s Cas’ idea to dress Emma for the holiday, but it’s Dean’s idea to theme their costumes. Go big or go home, he figures, if they’re gonna do this, they might as well go the whole nine. 

Emma is the cutest pumpkin in the entire fucking universe. Dean is not biased at all. Sam and Cas think so too. So does Charlie. So there. The pumpkin costume is simple and soft. Cas made it himself, put love and care into every single stich, and it shows. Dean thinks that, on some level, Emma must know that her papa made it for her with lots and lots of love and that’s the reason she’s not flipping out about the strange circumstances in which she finds herself. 

“You’re so cute I could eat you up, huh, Em?” Dean says. 

Dean is decked out as a farmer. It was easy enough and not too embarrassing. A quick trip to Good Will for some overalls and an old flannel shirt, and he was more or less ready to go. 

“If you make one more pun, Dean, I swear to god—” Sam rolls his eyes.

“Don’t listen to your Uncle Sammy, Emma,” Dean croons as he adjusts Emma’s hat; it’s meant to look like a stem with a bright green leaf as the base. It’s the only aspect of her outfit that seems to annoy her: she keeps pulling it off her head and throwing it with a scowl, “but if you get any cuter, I’m gonna have to turn you into a cutie-pie, and gobble you right up. Yes, I am.”

“If you weren’t holding my niece…” Sam menaces. Dean shoots Sam a shit-eating grin.

Cas is dressed as a scarecrow. Not the creepy, human killing variety, the adorably, floppy, really smart but occasionally bumbling Wizard of Oz variety. If it weren’t for Emma, he would be the cutest person in the room. As it is, Dean snaps a picture of Cas holding Emma, who seems fascinated by his make-up and keeps trying to grab his nose (that particular picture becomes the background on Dean’s phone for the next month). Sam takes a picture of the three of them together (he takes several actually), and, though Emma is way too little to eat candy, and Cas seems to think that trick-or-treating is a dangerous activity that takes his earlier advocacy for Emma’s normal childhood to a risky extreme (“this could risk exposing our daughter to unwanted pathogens, unsavory persons, and unhealthy dietary inclinations”), but Dean argues that if they don’t at least go for a walk they’ll have gotten all dressed up for no reason. Cas eventually concedes. They take Emma around the block, and she takes the screaming toddlers and sugar high middle-schoolers and anxious moms in stride. Cas is actually way more stressed than Emma is. She doesn’t look happy, per se, more like resigned to the fact that the world is a fucking weird place. She and Cas share a bizarrely understanding look that quite frankly freaks Dean out at the same time it endears him even more to his little family. 

Old ladies want to pinch Emma’s cheeks, but Cas intercedes (which is exceptionally impressive for a guy dressed like a L. Frank Baum character) before they can make contact. Young parents out with their kids comment on how cute they all are, what a lovely family they make. And, though Cas gives them a warning glare and Emma continues to look at everyone like they’re bonkers, Dean thanks them with a wide smile on his face, pride swelling his chest up like a hot air balloon. 

Their last stop for the night is Charlie’s house. She has an annual Halloween party, which Dean and Cas usually forgo in favor of sex and chocolate at home, but not this year. The second she opens the door (resplendent as Lady Galadriel), she scoops up their baby with a “Hail, Emma, the Pumpkin Queen,” and proceeds to introduce her ‘favorite niece’ to her friends. Cas and Dean drink spiced cider and relax with their daughter, who is given reverential courtesy by all of Dean and Charlie’s LARP-ing friends as the heir apparent to Moondoor and The Starlit Sea (which they acquired through battle last spring). All in all, it’s a surprisingly awesome night. 

Emma gets cranky and fussy as the night goes on, throwing her pumpkin hat farther and with more force. That’s their cue to head home. Cas rocks her to sleep, keeps her tight to his chest as he bounces and paces around the room. Dean sings her a lullaby (‘Free Bird’ tonight). Her breathing starts to even and her eyelids droop and she falls limp in Cas’ arms. Dean places a gentle kiss against her forehead; Cas ever so gently transitions her into her crib and pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, lays a soothing hand against her hair. They smile at her and then each other, illuminated by the soft glow of Emma’s night-light. Cas takes Dean’s hand in his own and squeezes, leads him across the hall. 

He kisses him outside of Emma’s door, and Dean leans into it, but then pulls back laughing because Cas still has his makeup on, and it’s smeared against his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, wiping at the paint on Dean’s nose.

Dean takes Cas’ hand, kisses his knuckles, “What d’you say we get you cleaned up, huh?”

Cas smiles, “I’d like that.”

Cas perches on the bathroom counter and watches curious, bright eyed as Dean wets a cloth in the sink. Dean steps up him and Cas pulls him close, uses the straps of the ridiculous overalls to pull Dean into the V of his legs. Dean places his mouth to the warm skin just beneath Cas’ ear. Cas hums, and Dean smiles as he nips lightly at the hinge of Cas’ jaw. He wipes away the paint on Cas’ nose. Cas makes a face, scrunches his nose and his eyes in response, it’s not unlike the expression Emma makes at bath time, except for the way that Cas smiles too. 

Dean kisses every newly liberated inch of Cas’ flesh, first his nose, then his cheekbones, his forehead, and finally his mouth. Cas’ hands are warm against Dean’s neck. They coast, sure and steady through his hair, across his chest, undoing the straps of his overalls before Dean even notices, too preoccupied with the feel of Cas’ mouth, the sound of his breathing, the warm wetness of his tongue. 

Cas hums, Dean likes when Cas hums, it lets him know he’s doing something right, lets him know that he’s not quite doing enough. Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s hips, uses that as leverage and pulls him closer; Dean follows the tug. 

“Bedroom?” he asks as Cas slips his hands beneath Dean’s shirt, they’re cold and Dean squirms away from the tickle and closer to Cas’ warmth at the same time. Cas kisses Dean’s throat, his neck, bites his earlobe and tugs. 

“Mmmm.”

Dean takes that as a yes. His initial instinct is to just carry Cas to the bedroom, won’t be the first time, won’t be the last, and it has the added benefit of allowing Cas to keep doing really fucking awesome things with his tongue on the way. The problem, of course, is that Dean forgets that he’s got a pair of overalls pooled around his ankles, and, when he lifts Cas off the counter, he stumbles on the first step and the two of them end up falling backwards and are only saved from completely crashing to the floor by Cas jumping to his feet and throwing out an arm to grip the towel rack. The quick move saves them from cracking their heads open on the floor, but it doesn’t stop Dean from letting out an incredibly loud yelp. They both freeze, sharing a look of pure terror, and canting their heads towards the hallway, hoping against hope that they haven’t woken the baby. Dean holds his breath and Cas squints hard at the dark hallway. It’s blessedly silent.

“—perhaps we should—”

“—walk, yeah—”

Cas huffs a laugh, takes Dean’s hand and pulls him in the direction of the bedroom. They undress each other quickly. Dean pushes Cas down onto the mattress; he kisses his way across Cas’ chest, running his fingers over Cas’ ribs, his stomach (Cas wriggles beneath the light touch). Cas’ hands dance across Dean’s shoulders, brushing through his hair, it his fingers deft, just the right pressure of skin and nails. 

Dean loves many things about Cas: he loves his sincerity and his courage, he loves his badassery and his kindness, he loves his hands and his smitey face, and, god, does he love Cas’ smile. He loves Cas through and through, loves Cas in ways that he didn’t know it was possible to love someone, he loves each and every fucking part of Cas, even the ones that drive him up a fucking wall sometimes. 

Dean also loves Cas’ dick. A lot. He loves the way it feels in his hand, the weight and the texture. He loves the way it looks, thick and curved just slightly the left, standing up at attention, fucking begging him to touch it. Fuck, he loves the way it feels inside of him. He loves feeling full, Cas’ dick stretching him open, he loves taking him deep and riding him. He really fucking loves all of that, but right now, the thing he loves most about Cas’ dick is the way it tastes. 

Cas is hard and he’s heavy and he’s waiting. A glance up at Cas’ face is telling, he’s biting his lower lip, his eyes are wide and dark, his hair is all messed up, standing every which way, from their make out in the bathroom; he looks disheveled, wild, and Dean loves it. 

Cas doesn’t demand anything (though sometimes he can be damn pushy) instead he watches, waiting, to see what Dean will do. Dean smirks, Cas sucks in a sharp breath, and Dean licks very gently, almost cat like, at the drop of precome on the tip of Cas’ dick. 

“Mmmm,” he says looking up at Cas, “you taste good, babe.”

“Dean,” Cas whispers, low and rough.

Dean takes that as an invitation to continue the proceedings. He circles the tip of Cas’ cock with his tongue. It’s warm, velvety skin, bitter and salty. One hand rubs circles at Cas’ hip bone, the other starts to work at the base of Cas’ cock, setting a steady rhythm that Dean matches with his mouth. Cas tries to hold still, Dean can feel the line of tension in his body, knows that Cas’ hands are fisting the blankets. They should, Dean thinks firmly, be fisting his hair. 

He takes his mouth off, keeps working with his hand. Cas is sweating and squirming slightly. 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean lilts, “want you to ride my mouth, you can, know you want to.”

Cas makes strangled yelping noise that he literally bites off (his teeth digging firmly into his bottom lip) because they have to be quiet, can’t wake Emma. Dean with spit slicked lips, leers at him. 

“Dean,” Cas implores.

“I know, Cas,” he says, “I got you. C’mon.”

Dean licks his way up Cas cock, licks over the tip, blows against the damp, over heated skin, presses a kiss the head. Cas sucks in a breath and mutters something that’s definitely not in English. Cas speaking in tongues during sex is one of Dean’s favorite things. It goes straight to his dick, which he is firmly ignoring in favor of making this good for Cas. Down boy, he tells himself, you’ll get your turn.

This time, when Dean takes Cas into his mouth, Cas bucks up into it. That’s it, Cas, he thinks, that’s it. He rolls Cas’ balls between his fingers, they’re heavy, heated skin, and Cas thrusts into Dean’s mouth; Cas runs a hand through Dean’s hair. It starts off reverential, gentle, but as he gets closer, the grip gets tighter, tugging at the short strands, holding on desperately, as he fucks up into the warmth of Dean’s mouth. Dean loves the little shocks of pain; they feel so fucking good, feel nice, Cas touching him, Cas wanting him, Cas with him. Dean knows Cas is close, can tell by the faltering rhythm, the strength of his grip, the disjointed words raining over his head, “Fuck” and “Dean” and “So good” and “love you” and several things that are in no language that Dean knows. 

Dean rubs a thumb over the sensitive skin just behind Cas balls, applies just enough pressure, Cas gives another two thrusts, and then he’s coming in Dean’s mouth, coming hot and hard, and Dean takes it, swallows it down, rides it out. Cas muffles his cries with a hand, and that’s one of the only down sides to having a kid, really, they have to keep it quiet. Dean pulls back with a wide smile as Cas looks up at him like he hung the starts just for him. Cas runs a awed hand against Dean’s cheeks, his eyes, traces his lips with reverentially with his thumb. Dean’s mouth is wet with come and spit, but Cas doesn’t care, Cas likes it, loves it, he kisses Dean wonderingly, worshipfully. Cas moves slowly, muscles lax, eyes heavy lidded. 

Cas takes Dean’s cock in his hand while he kisses him, and Dean hisses at the contact, already close, already sensitive. Cas moves his hand firmly, pulling and twisting in just the right ways. Dean sighs, it feels so fucking good. He feels the heat, in his belly, through his limbs, fuck, his cock. He wants Cas, always wants Cas, has Cas, fuck. Cas kisses his neck, bites at his shoulder, and sucks his earlobe between his teeth. Dean has to force himself to be nearly silent, can only gasp and hiss. Cas whispers endearments into his skin. 

“Beautiful,” he says, “Wonderful.” “Amazing” “So good” “Beloved” “Mine.”

Dean comes hard into Cas’ hand; Cas works him through it, kissing him on the mouth this time. Pressing their foreheads together and breathing with him. Dean pants and when he opens his eyes its to find Cas right with him. He’s smiling. 

Dean kisses him. Firmly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. He’s warm, and he’s stated and he’s so fucking happy and relaxed. Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead and pulls away. Dean grumbles, but Cas comes back a second later with a warm cloth, which he uses to gently wipe away their mess, kissing every inch of newly clean flesh on Dean’s stomach. Dean twitches, ticklish, and Cas smiles knowingly at him. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, ruffling Cas’ hair. 

They curl up together in bed, Dean’s head on Cas’ chest warm, tired, but happy. 

There’s a rustling noise, and Dean looks up just in time to see Cas break a Kit-Kat in half. He offers one to Dean, who takes it with a smile.

“Keeping the tradition alive,” Dean jokes with a wink.

“Traditions are important,” Cas agrees, taking a bite. 

The last kiss they share before sleep tastes like chocolate, and Dean thinks he could definitely get used to this.


	2. Ladybug, Ladybug

For Emma’s second Halloween, they go as the Justice League (abbreviated). Cas looks badass as Superman (Dean fixes his hair just right), Dean is a natural as Batman (obviously). He does a great Christian Bale voice, but it unfortunately freaks Emma out, sends her into a crying fit, and Dean has to remove his mask and talk her down in his normal voice for ten minutes before she calms, still sniffling, looking totally betrayed. Sam (aka the loser who wouldn’t dress up as the Green Lantern) finds this story hysterical and teases Dean relentlessly about it every Halloween for the next four years. Emma is the cutest Wonder Woman in the history of the world, according to her daddy. She’s got her little lasso and her little outfit and a badass streak a mile wide (which, let’s face it, she comes by naturally). 

However, she’s way more interested in playing with the tiny pumpkins that they got this year, than saving the world. Dean figures that’s okay; she has time to grow into her full superhero potential; she’s young yet. Emma holding a tiny pumpkin staring at it and turning it over as if trying to figure it out is precious. It reminds him a lot of Cas. This is topped only by Emma throwing one of aforementioned pumpkins at Sam’s head, while he’s turned away from her. It is, quite frankly, the highlight of Dean’s night. It’s surpassed only by the uses that he and Cas put their costumes to after Emma has been put to bed. 

Emma’s third Halloween is also pretty awesome. She’s two and half, toddling around and talking in words they can actually distinguish. Dean decides they should do Jurassic Park, Dean goes as Dr. Grant, Cas is Jeff Goldblum (“the character’s name is Ian—” “—seriously, Cas, you’re going as Jeff Goldblum, accept it.”) , and Emma is a terrifying, tiny T-Rex. She thinks it’s the funniest thing in the whole fucking world. She roars at them, and Dean runs away yelling, before he let’s her catch him, falls dramatically to the floor, and Emma decides that the best way for a dinosaur to destroy a person is with big smacking kisses. Cas comes to the rescue, of course, because he knows that the best way to neutralize a dinosaur is to tickle their tummy, and Emma loves that too. They play this game for much of the afternoon. Watching a two year old take down Sam is a joy; as is the way that Cas and Emma spend much of the day giggling, and all three of them munch on the dinosaur sugar cookies that Dean made. They go to Charlie’s party, and Emma rides on Dean’s shoulders roaring at strangers the whole way there. 

Emma’s fourth Halloween sucks ass. She catches a stomach bug from one of the other kids in pre-school and it spreads like wildfire through the house. Emma is miserable, pale and sweaty, throwing up everything she’s ever eaten and crying. Dean and Cas feel incredibly helpless and incredibly worried. It’s such a shitty feeling; it only gets worse when Cas comes down with the same thing. Dean is the last hold out. He knows it’s only a matter of time. He wants to put up a giant quarantine sign on their front door, but he thinks that might be mistaken as a decoration, so he leaves a giant bowl of candy at the end of the driveway and brings Cas and Emma Gatorade and Pedialite respectively. Emma sleeps through the miserable afternoon on the armchair, Cas sprawls across the sofa, and Dean alternates between the two of them, placing cool cloths on fevered foreheads, making soup, rubbing a soothing hand through their hair. They watch a marathon of old Halloween movies on the Disney Channel until everyone falls asleep. 

Emma’s fifth Halloween is awesome. She’s four and half and excited: she wants to get dressed up, she knows what free candy means, and, most of all, she’s stoked to take her baby sister around the neighborhood. Hael is only five months old. She’s still tiny and doesn’t do too much beyond cry and coo and make faces, but Emma loves her fiercely with her whole heart and Dean couldn’t be more proud. 

This is Emma’s first year picking her own costume, and this is a Big Deal to their little monster. It isn’t something she has to deliberate. In fact, when Cas tells her that she gets to pick what she’ll wear (because Cas believes that allowing Emma to make her own choices is an important part of her development and independence, which is why she sometimes wears plaid leggings and stripped dresses with cowboy boots to school), she immediately and with incredible conviction, declares that she wants to be a ladybug. 

Emma is currently going through what Cas refers to as her ‘Botanical Phase’. It started with an intense affection for The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which was the primetime bedtime story for two weeks, followed by several very intense conversations with Cas about insects and flowers and nature, there were encyclopedias and several issues of National Geographic involved. Dean brought home A Bug’s Life just to add fuel to the fire. Long story short: Emma thinks ladybugs are the shit right now. 

“And what shall Hael be?” Cas asks sincerely.

“A bumblebee!” Emma exclaims. 

“A bumblebee?” Cas replies with a smile.

“Yeah, papa,” Emma says, “She wants to be a bumblebee. See?”

Emma leans over Hael who is currently lying on a blanket on the floor and makes buzzing noises at her. Hael, far from being freaked out by this, tries to make the noise back, succeeding only in blowing spit bubbles, causing Emma to laugh madly, as Hael bats at her sister’s face in what Dean thinks is affection. 

“See?” she insists, as if this proves her point.

“And what shall I be?” he asks as Emma settles on to his lap.

“A spider,” she says.

“Cause he’s handsy?” Dean interjects, scoping Emma up in his arms and tickling her, while he winks at Cas. 

“No,” she says, breathless, “cause they eat all the bad bugs.”

“And what about daddy?” Cas prompts, mischief in his eyes. 

“Daddy’s the flowers.”

To his credit, Dean doesn’t drop his daughter. 

Cas makes the costumes. He sews spider arms onto an ugly old brown sweater, affixes googly eyes and pincers to a headband. He makes ladybug wings and sparkly antennae; he makes a little bumblebee outfit for their little bitty baby. Dean is given a pair of brown pants, a green sweater, and a crown of flowers. He is secure enough in his masculinity to go out like this. He is secure enough in his masculinity to go out in this. Maybe if he repeats it enough it will be true. 

Dean tricks out the stroller for the holiday. He wraps fake vines around the handle bars, puts flowers on the sides, lines the seats with a fuzzy green blanket. Emma carefully colors butterflies, which Cas cuts out for her, and she and Dean spend an hour putting them in strategic positions all along the sides. Emma’s face, screwed up in concentration, makes Dean’s heart melt. 

On Halloween day, Emma flits around the living room, excited as all get out. She keeps looking at her outfit in the mirror, and Dean is amazed that she’s moved past the age where everything that they put on her head is sure to go sailing through the air not two seconds later. In fact, the antennae are maybe Emma’s favorite part next to the sequined spots on her back. Hael, who is far more talkative as an infant than Emma was, expresses her opinions on her outfit very loudly. It’s indecipherable to Dean, although Emma reports that her sister loves her costume, and Cas listens intently to the baby babble, Dean is left to assume that, since there is no shrieking, Hael likes it. She looks adorable with her big blue eyes and her fuzzy little body suit. His kids, he thinks, are the cutest fucking munchkins in the universe, and he takes a at least twenty pictures of them before they leave the house. 

Emma is old enough to actually get the whole trick-or-treat thing this year. She bounds up to the houses on their street, hand in hand with Cas, and she proffers her bag for candy with varying degrees of boldness or shyness. Dean, who can’t be sure if he’s happy or freaked out by his daughter’s move toward independence, feels secure in the fact that, at the very least, she’s wearing a silver bracelet and has protective sigils sown into her clothes; she also has Cas, who would gank any mother fucker who looks at her wrong. Still, it’s a pang in his chest. He looks down at Hael who, after much wide-eyed contemplation of the weirdness, has fallen asleep in her stroller, and is happy that she’s gonna stay close for a while longer. Cas, after an hour of going house to house, looks like he wishes that his extra arms were actually functional. 

They go to Charlie’s party because Emma loves visiting her godmother, and Charlie promised they could watch The Nightmare Before Christmas this year. Hael upon waking is mesmerized by Dean’s flower crown, which he lets her hold until she tries shoving it into her mouth. They relax with their friends, Dean has two slices of pumpkin pie, and Cas drinks cider, there’s a bonfire in the backyard that they sit around telling ‘scary stories.’ Emma falls asleep on Cas’ chest, face sticky from the caramel apple she’d eaten. The walk home is quiet. Jack-o-lanterns wink at them from porches, both of their girls tucked into the stroller, Dean pushes and Cas rests his hand atop Dean’s on the handle bar. Transferring a four year old and a five-month old into their house, into their pajamas, and into bed would not be possible, Dean thinks, if not for all of his experience at breaking and entering; how normal people do this is beyond him. They manage it almost without a hitch. Dean very, very gently lays Hael in her crib, brushes a hand through her dark hair, and places a kiss on her forehead. Cas gets Emma out of her lady bug costume and into her Iron Man pajamas with minimal fuss. He tucks her into her bad and sings “Let it Be.”

They meet in the hallway and switch rooms. Dean makes sure that Emma’s nightlight is on, he kisses her brow.

“Happy Halloween, Em.”

In the quiet of their bedroom, Dean takes off Cas’ hideous sweater and Cas carefully removes Dean’s flower crown, before helping Dean undress. Dean’s exhausted and Cas is too. Cas crawls into bed first, Dean settles into the circle of his arms. Cas is warm, like Dean’s own personal furnace, and its warm and safe and wonderful.

“You make a very pretty garden,” Cas whispers.

Dean rolls his eyes, “I’m usually not a fan of spiders, but I’ll make an exception for you, Cas.”

“That’s very kind.”

“I’m a kind, guy.”

“Happy Halloween, Dean.” 

Cas kisses the nape of Dean’s neck, places something in his hand. Dean looks at it, small and wrapped in foil. It’s a Hershey’s kiss, Cas is such a fucking sap, but then, so is Dean if the way his eyes sting is anything to go by. 

Dean smiles into his pillow, twines their fingers together, “Happy Halloween, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope that you enjoyed. Comments are always appreciated, and I do so deeply apologize for the smut.


End file.
